


In A Gilded Cage

by Kolivans (arka_r)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A lot of contemplation, Actually not that dark..., Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Captivity, Concubine AU, Dubious Consent, Forced Bonding, M/M, Mind Control, Psychic Bond, Stockholm Syndrome, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arka_r/pseuds/Kolivans
Summary: This had to be some kind of cosmic joke, Shiro thought. Being a part of Kerberos mission crew, one of the first Human to reach the edge of their own solar system, Shiro was guilty of making alien abduction jokes before the mission even began.When they actually got alien-abducted, it had to be some kind of karmic retribution.He still didn’t know what Zarkon wanted from him or from Earth. He still didn’t know what happened to the rest of his crew — they were kept in separate cells when they were taken in, and then he was taken to Zarkon alone. What was more bizarre, he seemed to take a curious interest in Shiro, of all people.--Concubine Shiro AU that no one asked for, but here it is.





	In A Gilded Cage

**Title:** In A Gilded Cage  
**Trope Showcased:** Captured by Galra/Prisoner Fic  
**Author:** anonymous  
**Rating:** E / R-18  
**Content:** Alternate Universe - Pre-canon, Captivity, Stockholm Syndrome, Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Mind Break, Forced Bonding, Psychic Bonding, Concubine AU, Alien Cultural Differences, Xenophilia  
**Warnings:** Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Forced Bonding  
**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters belong to Dreamworks, Netflix, the creators of Voltron, and associates. No copyright infringement intended.  
**Summary:**

This had to be some kind of cosmic joke, Shiro thought. Being a part of Kerberos mission crew, one of the first Human to reach the edge of their own solar system, Shiro was guilty of making alien abduction jokes before the mission even began.

When they actually got alien-abducted, it had to be some kind of karmic retribution.

He still didn’t know what Zarkon wanted from him or from Earth. He still didn’t know what happened to the rest of his crew — they were kept in separate cells when they were taken in, and then he was taken to Zarkon alone. What was more bizarre, he seemed to take a curious interest in Shiro, of all people.

 **Notes:** This got too long oops

 

* * *

 

 

This had to be some kind of cosmic joke, Shiro thought. Being a part of Kerberos mission crew, one of the first  _ Human _ to reach the edge of their own solar system, Shiro was guilty of making alien abduction jokes before the mission even began. 

 

When they  _ actually _ got alien-abducted, it had to be some kind of karmic retribution.

 

The thought kept swirling inside Shiro’s head, as he walked behind the Emperor of the Universe, Zarkon. 

 

Who made him an emperor, Shiro honestly didn’t know — and how would that work, anyway? The Universe was too  _ vast _ , for all the Humans knew. Maybe it was different for this sentient species, the Galra people. Maybe they had discovered the edge of the Universe and it wasn’t so endless after all. Maybe the word ‘Universe’ referred to different thing to the Galra than it was to the Humans.

 

What was more bizarre, he seemed to take a curious interest in Shiro, of all people. 

 

But Shiro knew for sure that this wasn’t some kind of fairy tale about a king falling in love to someone inconsequential and they lived happily ever after. If anything, it was about an all-powerful god falling in love with a mortal. Usually, the mortal was met with bad end in those stories.

 

Zarkon was an imposing figure, standing twice Shiro’s height and appearing bulkier thanks to his armor — or maybe he was just that bulky, who knew. He was cold and cruel, and Shiro saw him ordering execution to his soldiers because they had displeased him. They had to be dragged away from his throne room, kicking and screaming, and truthfully, Shiro didn’t want to know about their fate.

 

Still, Zarkon hadn’t done anything bad to him, not yet — and the thought sat anxiously in his gut. The Emperor was content with letting Shiro trail in his footsteps, as he took Shiro for a walk through the dimly-lit passageways, as if expecting him to follow like some kind of an obedient pet.

 

Another life, another time, Shiro would be excited — the ship where Zarkon lived was  _ massive _ , and he could see what appeared to be dyson rings through the window (viewer screen?).

 

The structures were just so…  _ big _ , that Shiro couldn’t wrap his head around it. The rings went  _ through _ three planets, one appeared to be a gas giant, and that alone should tell how massive the structures were. In comparison, the gigantic warship that had abducted him and his crew looked like flies, flitting in and out the rings like some kind of morbid-looking busy bees. 

 

The walk seemed to go on forever, that after what felt like  _ days _ , Shiro was so  _ exhausted _ he couldn’t even take another step. He always considered himself quite fit, but it felt like his legs were about to fall off and he was pretty sure he blacked out.

 

He didn’t know how long he went out, it wasn’t like he could tell time in space. But when he woke up, he was on a lavish bed in an equally lavish room, with deep blood red color accentuating the place — Zarkon’s colors.

 

This had to be Zarkon’s room, Shiro realized.

 

The Emperor himself was nowhere to be found. There wasn’t even a single armored guard — Shiro was truly  _ alone _ , for the first time, and if his legs weren’t so sore and his body ached from the long journey of being alien abducted and presented before the space emperor, he would be poking around the room and trying to find for an escape.

 

So instead, he went back to sleep.

 

When he woke up again, there was a warm-cold body under his head, and it took him five full seconds to realize that it was Zarkon’s  _ bare chest _ . The Emperor was lying partially naked on the bed.  _ With him _ . And he had his hand resting over Shiro’s head.

 

Zarkon was awake, and Shiro knew that Zarkon knew he was also awake. But none of them said a thing — Zarkon was content with occasionally giving his head light scritches (that actually felt nice, but that was a thought for another time) and Shiro wasn’t brave enough to break the silence.

 

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Zarkon was reading something on a holoscreen that soaked them both in purple-red light, and Shiro took the time to… examine Zarkon’s body.

 

Zarkon’s skin was smooth, as if he was incapable to grow body hair, and his torso was ridged below his chest. Shiro counted five pair of ridges, ended with an inverted triangle at the center of his abdomen, where the navel would be if he was a Human. There was a line of dark frills splitting the left side and the right side of his torso, and a blanket covered his modesty just below the abdomen. 

 

Shiro couldn’t decide if he was feeling glad or curious — after everything that happened today, finding out about an alien genital wasn’t very high on his list.

 

And he wasn’t expecting this…  _ this intimacy _ . He was expecting being kept in cold dark cell, or maybe used for medical experimentation. But this… Shiro wasn’t sure if this was better or worse. 

 

What if Zarkon was  _ sexually attracted _ to him?

 

That was probably his overactive imagination talking. Surely Zarkon had plenty warm (or cold) body to choose to satisfy his sexual urges — why  _ him? _ Sure, Shiro used to be considered attractive, but that was back on Earth. With Humans. Surely the Galra had different beauty standards? Compared to them, he was probably too small, too  _ pink _ , too non-threatening.

 

Still, he couldn’t help the mental images of Zarkon  _ brutally _ raping him flashing in his mind. It was too vivid and the thought made him shake.

 

“You are shaking.” Zarkon’s voice suddenly rumbled, and Shiro flinched away — or, he tried, but Zarkon’s hand was still preventing him from pulling away.

 

Shiro looked up to meet Zarkon in the eye, only to regret it almost immediately. Zarkon’s features were humanoid enough, but there were things that made Shiro so unsettled; like the shape of his lips, the protruding maxilla that created the shape of fangs, a huge scar running down the left side of his face, and the fact that  _ he had a pair of freakin’ glowing eyes _ .

 

And in that moment, Shiro was very painfully aware about their differences. Zarkon was  _ not _ a Human. He was an alien who wasn’t bound by Human laws or any other laws that Shiro know of, because Zarkon was an Emperor who had his own laws. He was bigger than Shiro, and it would be so easy for Zarkon to force himself onto him, to hurt him and break him right then and there.

 

“Are you cold?” Zarkon said again, the question more like a demand, an order for him to answer.

 

_ No _ , Shiro wanted to answer. Instead, he said, “Are you going to rape me?”

 

Zarkon was, perhaps, as surprised as Shiro was to his own question, if Shiro could read him right. His eyes went wide for a fraction, though Shiro didn’t know if the expression meant the same to the Galra as it was to the Humans. For all he knew, it could mean affirmation.

 

But his worry was proven wrong when Zarkon asked, “Why would I do that?”

 

Shiro didn’t know if he should laugh from relief, scream in frustration, or break down crying.  _ Because you're hugging me naked _ , he wanted to answer. Because Zarkon was his captor and he wasn’t very benevolent, even to his own people. Because Zarkon was treating him more like a pet. Because Shiro wouldn't trust him to take care of his wellbeing without any ulterior motive, and that was the only thing Shiro could think about why Zarkon was so interested in him and taking him in instead of throwing him out of the nearest airlock.

 

Instead, Shiro answered, “I’m hungry.”

 

Because he  _ was  _ hungry. It had been an extremely long day of preparing to land on Kerberos, helping to collect ice samples, getting alien abducted, being showed around a massive mothership, and all the emotional rollercoaster that followed. Because the last thing he ate was some stupid overcooked peas and mushy potatoes, because none of the Kerberos crew could actually cook decent food, and that was it. That was the last thing he ate and he was tired and hungry and he was tired of worrying himself sick. 

 

“Is it your feeding time?” Zarkon asked, and Shiro also wasn’t expecting that. 

 

“W-what…?”

 

“Feeding time. You Humans surely have it?” Zarkon said, voice bored as if Shiro was playing dumb on purpose to annoy him.

 

“No, we—”

 

“Then you will wait until feeding time”, Zarkon said with such a finality in his voice.

 

Yeah. No.

 

“I’m  _ hungry _ ”, Shiro demanded, ignoring how whiny he sounded or how his eyes burned from tears that was already threatening to spill. 

 

“You will eat during your assigned feeding time.”

 

This had to be some kind of a cosmic joke. It had to be.

 

Shiro didn’t know what compelled his action next, all he knew, he was pushing himself onto Zarkon and pressing his lips onto Zarkon’s lips hard. There was a sharp pain when Zarkon’s maxilla protrusion grazed at the sensitive flesh of his lips, followed by taste of iron flooding his mouth.

 

Zarkon easily shoved him away as if he weighed nothing. “What are you doing?!” he roared, and that was the first time Shiro heard him losing his temper.

 

“I’m  _ hungry! _ ” Shiro shouted back.

 

“So you decided to  _ eat  _ me?!”

 

The situation was already ridiculous enough and Shiro could only laugh. He laughed, and laughed until his throat was tight, and the next he was choking out sobs as tears and snot dribbled down his face. 

 

“I’m not—” A deep breath, another hiccups. “Why do you care?! You took me from my home, you took me from my crew, you denied my basic needs!  _ Why aren’t you hurting me?! _ ”

 

He was shouting the last part before he cried even harder. It was a kind of crying that felt like a dam breaking, and by the end of it, he felt like a washcloth being wrung dry several times over, and he—

 

— he was  _ tired _ .

 

Maybe if he shut his eyes, he would wake up in the shuttle that was taking him to Kerberos. Or better yet, he was in his room back on the Garrison, on Earth. Maybe this was all just a nightmare, a product of him stressing over finals.

 

But then he felt Zarkon’s hand pressing over his shoulder, and he knew that it was Zarkon’s hand thanks to the claws and his stupid smooth scaly skin, and Shiro thought his life was truly one big fat cosmic joke.

 

“Here, eat this”, Zarkon’s voice rumbled in his ears and through the tears, Shiro could see that the Emperor was offering him a plate of…  _ food _ .

 

Shiro didn’t know what it was, but it smelled really nice. His stomach growled in agreement, so he began to shovel in the food with his hands. The blocky cubes had texture similar to chicken meat and it tasted really,  _ really _ good, with fragrant herbs and spices that Shiro really couldn’t name.

 

He kept eating like a starving man — he was  _ actually _ starving — until he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out from hunger, and he slowed down a bit. That was when he noticed that Zarkon had been staring at him with an expression that Shiro couldn’t quite read.

 

“You are an odd creature”, Zarkon told him.

 

The sentiment, Shiro thought, was mutual.

 

As Shiro continued to eat, Zarkon questioned him about how Human counted time so he could assign a feeding time for Shiro. Not wanting to be starved again, Shiro answered the Emperor’s question as best as he could, and waited until Zarkon finished converting from Earth standard unit to Galran standard.

 

“You’re meaning to tell me that you eat once every six of your Earth standard hours?” Zarkon asked. He sounded incredulous.

 

Shiro didn’t know how to answer that, so he nodded instead.

 

Zarkon didn’t say anything else after that.

 

In fact, Zarkon decided to leave him alone. Shiro could only watch as servants helped the Galra Emperor dress in his armor, before leaving the room and locking the door shut as he went. Still tired from his emotional outburst earlier, Shiro decided to go back to sleep, feeling content with his stomach full.

 

At least he knew now that Zarkon didn’t intentionally starve him, and the thought was somewhat comforting.

 

—

 

Zarkon still hadn’t returned when Shiro woke up again, so he decided to poke around the room a bit.

 

The room was lavish, befitting to the Emperor of the Universe. The walls were decorated with geometrical lines that glowed purple-red; they acted as the only light sources in the room. One of the walls was showing the vastness of space and the megastructure outside the ship. When Shiro pressed his ear to the smooth glass, he could still hear the engine hum reverberating through it, which probably meant that it was a screen, not an actual floor-to-ceiling window.

 

The bed situated at the center of the room was actually a raised platform, covered in furs, blankets, and plush pillows, with sheer glittering drapery that gave the illusion of an enclosed space. Not to mention that it was  _ huge _ , just like everything in the room — Shiro probably could burrow in it and Zarkon wouldn’t be able to find him.

 

The thought, he admitted, was tempting.

 

Despite the sense of grandiose, the room itself felt like it was being used rarely. Oh, it was spotless clean with no trace of dust — but still, Shiro couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that pressed down on him like invisible walls.

 

Deciding that it was not his business, Shiro continued with his poking and found a door that led to… another room. This one was even emptier than the bedroom, with similar floor-to-ceiling ‘window’ and a large indentation on the floor. There were steps to reach the bottom and carved ledges along the wall for him to sit on.

 

Belatedly, Shiro realized that it was a bathroom of some sort, and the indentation was the bathtub. The sheer size of it was amazing — it looked more like a  _ swimming pool _ than a bathtub.

 

He found several panels along the wall inside the pool, and when he touched it lightly, he was surprised when water began to pour into the it. 

 

Shiro didn’t know if he was allowed to use the bathroom — but if he wasn’t, Zarkon probably should’ve locked the door ( _ or kept him chained _ , Shiro’s brain whispered to himself). Not wanting to waste perfectly good clear water, he began to strip down his clothes and dipped into the pool.

 

The water was  _ cold _ , but after  _ months _ taking towel baths, it actually felt  _ refreshing _ . The Garrison shuttle didn’t provide bathroom or anything, and here he was — sitting in  _ a freaking pool inside an alien ship _ .

 

He splashed around a bit, before diving into it. He swam until his muscles ached pleasantly, then he sat on the stone ledge, his back against the cool tile and his eyes shut, until his skin wrinkled like prunes. It didn’t matter that there was no soap or other hygiene product — he felt refreshed enough as it was.

 

Zarkon still hadn’t returned when Shiro was done with his bath, but someone had left behind a tray of food and some new clothes. Probably the servants, he mused. The food looked exactly like what he ate earlier, so he assumed it would be safe for consumption.

 

He took the tray and dragged a pillow from the bed to sit next to the window, so he could eat while watching the stars. 

 

The rings did seem to revolve around Zarkon’s ship, as Shiro noted. There was some kind of metaphor about Zarkon’s cosmic-sized ego to have  _ an entire solar system _ revolving around him that Shiro couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And this was supposedly only  _ a fraction _ of Zarkon’s empire — or else, he wouldn’t proclaim himself the Emperor of the Universe.

 

It made Shiro feel… small.  _ Inconsequential _ .

 

He still didn’t know what Zarkon wanted from him or from Earth. He still didn’t know what happened to the rest of his crew — they were kept in separate cells when they were taken in, and then he was taken to Zarkon  _ alone _ . He hadn’t seen Commander Holt or Matt again since then, and now that he wasn’t worrying about himself, he began to worry about them.

 

Best case scenario, Zarkon was actually keeping the Holts in another room, kinda similar to this. They weren’t harmed, but they weren’t allowed to see each other for whatever reason.

 

Bad case scenario: the Empire was still keeping them in prison cell. Shiro wasn’t sure how the Empire regarded forced labor. Surely a civilization as advanced as the Empire didn’t need them? Worst case scenario, they were being used as test subject, since they were the first Humans the Empire encountered.

 

Thinking about the Holts made him think about home, about Earth — about the Garrison. What would the Garrison think happened to the Kerberos crew, when all communication was cut off? Would the Garrison assume them dead? What would happen then?

 

And then, there was the rest of the Holts. What would happen to Colleen and Katie, if they found out that Sam and Matt would never return to them? They were good people, they really didn’t deserve losing two members of their family.

 

And Keith —  _ well _ , at least Shiro knew that Keith could take care of himself. His friend had always been a loner, but Shiro had the utmost faith in him, that one day he could reach the stars (and maybe stayed away from the Galra Empire in whole).

 

Thinking about his friend and Earth  _ hurt _ . 

 

He didn’t know if he was going to see Earth again. He didn’t know if he was going to see bright blue sky over his head or fresh snowfall on his face. What season it would be currently, up in northern hemisphere? The Kerberos mission was launched at a bright summer day — six months had passed since then, so it was winter?

 

His mind wandered to his hometown back at Kutchan-chõ — he wondered how thick the snow on his grandparents’ backyard currently. He  _ missed _ snow so bad, he didn’t get any of that in Arizona. He probably wouldn’t get any of that  _ ever again _ , being held captive aboard a ship without any natural weather.

 

The ‘glass’ felt cold against his forehead, and Shiro wished he could phase into it and escape into the vacuum. He wondered if he died here, his spirit would return to Earth, or if he would be forever adrift in the void. Either way, the thought was  _ scary _ , to be alone for all eternity.

 

And it just felt so…  _ ridiculous _ — it wasn’t like Zarkon was hurting him. He could use this very lavish room, equipped with a bathroom that he could use anytime and people to bring him food whenever he was hungry. Sure, it sucked to be alone, but at least Zarkon wasn’t keeping him in cold, dark cell or  _ raping _ him.

 

The thought made him shudder again.

 

He still didn’t know what Zarkon wanted from him. 

 

—

 

As there was no natural sunlight or any clock that he could actually read, the only way for him to track the time was through his assigned mealtimes (he refused to call it ‘feeding time’ anymore).

 

He noted that automated servants always came at a certain interval, bringing food and fresh clothes. Remembering his conversation with Zarkon, he assumed that his mealtime was once every six hours. Between meals, all he did was swim, sleep, or snoop around the room. He did try to exercise, to burn out the calories he ate. Yet, as more time passed, he started to run out of motivation to do so.

 

He found some kind of computer console, when he continued with his poking around. The holoscreens turned on when he touched it, which surprised him — he didn’t know if Zarkon forgot to lock his computer or if Shiro was really allowed to access it. Probably the latter, because he really couldn’t imagine Zarkon being so neglectful.

 

But it wasn’t like he could use the computer. The screen, which was in bright purple-red, hurt his eyes when he stared at it for too long. Not to mention that he still couldn’t make heads or tails of the Galran letters displayed there.

 

He wondered if Zarkon would allow him to learn how to read Galran — not because he wanted to try to escape or anything, but only so he would have something to do when he was being locked in this room.

 

Though he  _ did _ try to find for escape. He saw automated servants pressing their hands on the panel by the doorway. When he tried to do the same, it didn’t seem to do anything, so he wondered if he could take out the droids and make a run for it. The droids looked similar to the guards, standing as tall as seven feet, and were armored to the teeth.

 

Shiro kept the thought until he was feeling desperate enough.

 

Zarkon came after Shiro’s thirtieth mealtime, still in his caped glory and as imposing as Shiro remembered him to be. He brought in the smell of ozone and — Shiro shuddered —  _ decay _ . The latter made his food rising back up his throat, and Shiro quickly placed a hand over his mouth, not wanting to offend the Emperor by throwing up on his floor.

 

But Zarkon merely spared him a sideways glance, before heading to the bathroom. He left a trail of armor pieces and cape behind him that Shiro could only stare with a sense of horror growing in his chest. A moment later, the sound of rushing water came out from the bathroom.

 

Shiro was unsure what he was supposed to do. He didn’t know if Zarkon expected him to follow into the bathroom — and he actually had to remind himself about that moment when Zarkon asked him incredulously “ _ Why would I do that _ ”. Zarkon might be terrible, but at least he wasn’t a  _ rapist _ .

 

_ But what if he remembered it wrong _ , his mind whispered treacherously.

 

What if it never happened, what if it was some kind of  _ fever dream _ , born out of his exhaustion? He wasn’t exactly himself back then, was he? What if he was making it all up just to make himself feel better about his captor?

 

He needed to hide.

 

Unfortunately, there were very little place to hide, despite all the furniture scattered all around the room. Being advanced species apparently meant that the Galra no longer had tables or desks with  _ legs _ , which would be really cool anytime but  _ not now _ .

 

His only option was the bed. But Shiro really didn’t want to go there, not when Zarkon was in the room with him. He didn’t want Zarkon to interpret it as willingness to have sex. And since Zarkon was returning to his room, Shiro assumed the Galra would be using the bed. Shiro would rather not be within an arm reach from him.

 

So he stayed right where he was, by the window in a nest of pillow and blanket, far away from Zarkon would be sleeping.

 

Soft footsteps pulled him out of his thought and Shiro wrapped the blanket around him even tighter, absolutely refusing to turn his head no matter what. Maybe if he made himself even smaller, Zarkon wouldn’t pay attention to him.

 

But the footsteps came even closer, before stopping right in front of him — through the folds of his blanket, Shiro could see a pair of clawed feet, bare and larger than his own. They were connected to similarly bare legs that seemed to go on forever and ended with equally bare crotch

 

Zarkon was  _ completely naked _ .

 

Shiro ducked his head instantly, heat creeping up his face.  _ Why was Zarkon naked? _ — he knew, logically, that Zarkon just came out of the bathroom, but  _ why was he naked?! _

 

“Why aren’t you on the bed?” Zarkon’s voice cut through the silence, causing Shiro to jerk violently. 

 

_ This was it _ , he thought, as his heart began to beat even faster. Zarkon was going to force him to the bed — and the rest of Shiro’s fear would become reality.

 

“I was—” Shiro choked. How was he supposed to answer Zarkon’s question without making the Galra angry? “I like watching the stars.”

 

He gripped at the blanket around him until his knuckles turned white — and he couldn’t stop  _ shaking _ . Zarkon was still standing in front of him and Shiro absolutely refused to look up, not wanting to see anger in that alien face.

 

“Hmmmm”, Zarkon hummed. His tone was neutral enough that Shiro couldn’t tell if the Galra was angry or not. But what came next was not something that he predicted.

 

Zarkon walked  _ away  _ — he just…  _ turned  _ and walked away. Shiro heard soft shuffling from the bed and turned just in time to see Zarkon settling down on the bed, his back facing towards Shiro. In no time, Zarkon was asleep, his torso rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm.

 

Still, Shiro felt like he was being glued on the spot, unable to move. His shaking was starting to lessen and his heartbeat felt like it was no longer trying to burst out of his chest, but he didn’t want to risk getting anywhere close to Zarkon.

 

Time passed in tense silence, and Shiro didn’t know how long he was watching Zarkon sleep, fear still twisting in his gut whenever Zarkon as much as  _ shifted _ . It didn’t matter that Zarkon seemed to be deep in sleep, Shiro was still expecting the Galra to turn around and drag him back to the bed.

 

When Zarkon eventually rose, Shiro was a nervous wreck. Any moment now, Zarkon could turn to him — but it never came. Zarkon rose, scratched his back, then looked around confusedly as if searching for something, before his eyes finding Shiro huddling by the ‘window’. Then, he let out an almost incomprehensible grumbling, before readying for the day.

 

Servants arrived to help the Emperor dressing up. When Zarkon left the room once again, Shiro didn’t know if he should cry from relief or something else that he couldn’t begin to understand.

 

—

 

It was the loneliness, Shiro later realized.

 

For what felt like  _ months _ , Shiro was left alone without any interaction beyond the bare minimum that Zarkon provided. The automated servants were— well,  _ automated _ . They couldn’t speak, as it seemed. Shiro knew, he  _ tried _ .

 

Zarkon always arrived on Shiro’s thirtieth scheduled mealtime and did nothing else but to  _ actually _ rest. The Galra Emperor didn’t force Shiro to accompany him or attend to his needs. He arrived, took a bath, and went to sleep afterwards. When he woke up several hour laters, he left and the wait for his return began again.

 

Somewhat, Shiro began to understand why the room seemed so rarely used.

 

Shiro didn’t know if this was normal for a Galra — but somewhat the thought that Zarkon only needed to sleep  _ once a week _ was so baffling to him. It was either that, or Zarkon had another room that he could use to sleep, Shiro didn’t know, and he had no way to find out either.

 

Come to think of it, Shiro never actually saw Zarkon eat in front of him either — but judging from the Emperor’s incredulous tone upon finding out that Humans needed to eat once every six hours, he assumed that the Galra didn’t need to eat that often.

 

His curiosity about Galran metabolism got the better of him — so one day, when Zarkon returned to the room, he pulled himself together and decided to ask.

 

“I’ve never seen you eat”, he began, hesitantly. “Do the Galra eat less often than Humans?”

 

When Zarkon turned to regard him, Shiro was already shrinking back. He shouldn’t have asked — Zarkon could’ve eaten whenever he wasn’t in the room, it wasn’t like it was  _ his _ business.

 

But he swore Zarkon’s eyes softened; there was even the barest hint of smile in that strange-shaped lips.

 

“I no longer need to eat”, was Zarkon’s answer.

 

Shiro’s mind immediately screeched to a halt. 

 

“Sorry,  _ what?! _ ”

 

Did Zarkon just seriously told him that he didn’t need to eat  _ anymore _ — which implied that he  _ used to _ , but he wasn’t anymore. How was that supposed to work? Alien biology? Weird space thing? Shiro’s mind whirled, he had  _ so many questions _ —

 

“I can eat with you if it bothers you so much”, Zarkon said, promptly interrupting Shiro’s line of thinking.

 

_ Well _ . That wasn’t actually the problem, but the idea, Shiro admitted, sounded nice. “I… I’d like that.”

 

And that was how Shiro started spending his mealtime whenever Zarkon was back in the room; Zarkon even had some servants to set up a set of dining table by the window — an ornate hover-table and a pair of hover-chairs.

 

It took Shiro awhile to realize that Zarkon apparently remembered about that one time Shiro told him how he loved to watch the stars. Shiro wasn’t sure how he should take it, but it was… such a sweet thing to do.

 

Whenever Zarkon returned to the room, the servants seemed to bring way more food than both of them could possibly finish. They ate slowly and talked — or rather, Shiro talked while Zarkon listened. Zarkon wasn’t the biggest conversationalist, Shiro found out, but that was okay. Shiro really didn’t have another thing to talk about — so he talked about his home.

 

He talked about his grandparent’s home at Kutchan-chõ, about the long winters that seemed to stretch forever. He talked about the snow, and in comparison, the lack of it at Arizona. He talked about how he lost his parents and twin-brother to an accident, so his grandparents had to take care of him and raise him. 

 

He didn’t always get a reaction from Zarkon. In fact, Zarkon never said  _ anything _ — save for a couple nonverbal confused noises he made whenever Shiro started talking about Earth cultural stuff. But Zarkon never showed any sign of boredom whenever Shiro started rambling. Zarkon was an avid listener, and it was…

 

… It actually felt  _ nice _ .

 

He began to look forward for the time Zarkon would return to the room. 

 

By then, Shiro had an array of clothes to pick from. Aside from full-body undersuit, all Galran-style clothes in his possession reminded him of Chinese hanfu— loose robe that dragged behind him, with wide sleeves and ornate belts. They were all purple too, with silver or black accents. Some clothes were decorated with geometrical wire ornaments, beads, or beautiful embroidery.

 

To be honest, Shiro didn’t know why the servant provided him with such regal-looking clothes. They looked like what a royalty would wear, but Shiro wasn’t a royalty — he was just a  _ prisoner _ . It made him feel like he was some kind of expensive pet.

 

Or a  _ concubine _ .

 

He didn’t like to dwell to the thoughts a lot — besides, it was only polite to dress up for the  _ Emperor _ , right? 

 

Eventually deciding to wear a wine-red robe, Zarkon’s color, Shiro sat on the pillows by the window and waited for Zarkon to come. Servants came and left not long after, bringing food and setting up the table. Any moment now, Zarkon would come.

 

But Zarkon never came. As time passed, anxiety began to stir in his gut. Zarkon  _ never _ came late — that was the thing. Shiro tried to cheer himself up, thinking that Zarkon was being held up somewhat. He was the Emperor, his schedule was probably so busy he couldn’t spare time to rest. 

 

Which was also worrying in itself.

 

His stomach growled, but Shiro couldn’t bring himself to eat.  _ Any moment now _ , he thought. Any moment, Zarkon would walk into the room. Shiro only needed to wait just a moment longer, he kept telling himself.

 

Shiro didn’t know how long he waited. He sat on the chair by the window, trying to count from one to ten, before he couldn’t stand it anymore. He got up, walked in circles, then sat down once again. Rinse and repeat. The food sat on the table, untouched.

 

Eventually, he decided to go to sleep, hoping that Zarkon would come and wake him up so they could eat together. Burrowing himself into the bed felt  _ wrong  _ — he never took the bed whenever Zarkon was in the room and Zarkon never commented on it, content with letting Shiro sleep by the window. Using it now felt like betrayal, but Shiro was too tired to care.

 

He woke up to servants coming to bring more food and take the old one away — six hours had passed, and Zarkon was still nowhere to be found. Shiro wondered if he miscounted his mealtime. If that was the case, then it wasn’t Zarkon’s fault.

 

But another thirty mealtimes passed and still, there was no sign of Zarkon. The wait drove Shiro  _ crazy _ ; first with anxiety, then with worry. He wondered if something happened to Zarkon. He didn’t know how  _ old  _ Zarkon was, if it was possible for him to die from old age. 

 

Was it possible that someone had  _ assassinated _ him? It didn’t seem likely, but  _ what if _ .

 

When he wasn’t worrying about Zarkon, he began to worry about himself. If Zarkon died, what would happen to him, then? Would he be passed onto Zarkon’s successor? Did Zarkon even have a successor? Shiro couldn’t remember hearing Zarkon talk about his child, but then again Zarkon wasn’t very talkative about himself.

 

As more time passed, Shiro didn’t feel like leaving the bed. He began to sleep more and missed his mealtime. Sometimes he ate — mostly, he didn’t. He just didn’t feel like getting up from the bed, content with burrowing himself into the blankets and pillows. They didn’t smell of Zarkon anymore.

 

The loneliness began to settle, bearing down hard onto him, suffocating him. Then, fear began to rise, whispering in his ears whenever he tried to close his eyes.

 

What if Zarkon had grown bored of him? What if Shiro was actually counting time for Zarkon to dispose him? What would happen to him then?

 

Not for the first time, he was thinking to get past the servants and break out. He was only beginning to seriously consider that option, when the door opened.

 

He thought it was the servants bringing his next meals, but the shadow they cast was too long, the footsteps too heavy. Shiro poked his head from the burrow he made in the pillows and saw  _ Zarkon _ .

 

The Galra Emperor was standing at the doorway, wearing an armor that Shiro had never seen before. His eyes glowed eerily in the dim-lit room, though Shiro could see the way they softened when they found him. His figure was as imposing as ever, but all Shiro could think was if it was real.

 

He had to find out if it was real.

 

It felt as if his body was moving on its own as he threw himself into Zarkon, his arms struggling to wrap around the armored waist. Zarkon was as tall as ever and smelled like ozone — and Shiro took a deep, deep breath of it, affirming that Zarkon was real. Zarkon was there, and Shiro was currently hugging him.

 

“Where were you?” he sobbed before he could even stop himself. He felt like he could cry. Pretty sure he was already crying.

 

“The Taurii Quadrant”, Zarkon rumbled out an answer. Gloved hand landed on the top of Shiro’s head, the clawed fingers carding through his hair so  _ very  _ gently. “There was a trouble with rebellion that required my presence.”

 

Which probably meant that there was no longer rebellion — Shiro supposed he should feel horrible, but instead he only felt  _ relief _ .

 

“I’m glad you’re okay”, Shiro muttered. “I thought something happened to you.”

 

They stayed like that for what felt like eternity, with Shiro hugging Zarkon’s waist while Zarkon continuing to comb through Shiro’s hair. It was getting longer now, reaching below his ears — it was probably the longest his hair had ever gotten.

 

The fingers in his hair felt really nice. Zarkon was being  _ extremely  _ gentle with his claws, and the thought made something warm grow in Shiro’s chest. Zarkon could seriously injure him without meaning to — in fact, Zarkon could seriously hurt him if he  _ wanted _ to.

 

But he  _ didn’t _ . His touches remained gentle, even when he lifted Shiro up into his arms. Through the armor, Shiro could feel the strong muscle, how easy it would be for Zarkon to crush him, to  _ break _ him. When Zarkon slowly lowered him to the bed, he did it with as much caution, as if he was afraid that Shiro would break if he handled him wrong.

 

“I didn’t know that my absence is upsetting you.”

 

At that, Shiro let out a weak laugh. There were so many things he wanted to tell Zarkon, about how he missed him, about how he was always looking forward to their shared meals together and their conversation. When Zarkon failed to show up, he was seriously thinking that Zarkon was  _ abandoning _ him.

 

Words were simply not working for him, so he placed his hands to cup Zarkon’s face, careful not to cut himself on the sharp metallic crown, and pressed a soft kiss to Zarkon’s lips.

 

It was the second time he kissed Zarkon, he realized, and the only physical contact he got for  _ months _ . Zarkon’s skin had an almost leathery texture, and it left a stinging sensation like static electricity. Kind of weird, but Shiro wasn’t exactly complaining. 

 

When he pulled back, a pair of glowing eyes narrowed into slits. By then, he understood Zarkon’s expression a bit,  _ somewhat  _ — eyes narrowing meant Shiro had done something to amuse him or please him. Whichever it was, it made his stomach give a funny flip, like there was a thousand butterflies in his stomach.

 

“You did it again”, Zarkon rumbled softly, just barely above a whisper. “What is the meaning of this gesture?”

 

What gest—  _ oh _ .

 

“It’s called kissing”, Shiro answered. “It’s how we Humans show affection.”

 

Zarkon let out a thoughtful hum.

 

“It’s different from how us Galra kiss”, Zarkon said. “I suppose, we can reach a compromise.”

 

Shiro was curious about how the Galra kiss—  _ and what compromise _ . But then Zarkon pulled away and Shiro felt something like loss. He didn’t want Zarkon to pull away. He still wanted to hug Zarkon, to be close to him.

 

But Zarkon was only taking off his armor and crown, leaving dark undersuit underneath that left nothing to imagination. It dipped and bulged accordingly to his muscular torso, over the ridged abdomen and the plated back. When Zarkon returned to the bed and his weight pressing over Shiro’s smaller figure, Shiro laid his hand at the conjunction between the skin and the hard plates on his shoulder.

 

Zarkon had his arms trapping Shiro’s head, bearing his weight so he wouldn’t crush Shiro under his weight. Again, Shiro was reminded about how easy it would be for Zarkon to crush him — a deep, dark thought inside him  _ wanted _ Zarkon to crush him.

 

Then, Zarkon pressed his plated forehead onto Shiro’s and Shiro felt his own eyes falling shut. A shuddery breath escaped him — the gesture felt so intimate, Shiro thought he could almost cry. This was how the Galra kiss, he realized.

 

_ A compromise. _

 

Tentatively, Shiro tipped his head slightly, angling his face so he could press a kiss on Zarkon’s lips once again. Zarkon didn’t pull away and tried his best to return the kiss, but he was clumsy. Their teeth knocked several times, and when Shiro coaxed his mouth to open, it was as if he was unsure of what to do next, letting Shiro to show him the know-how.

 

The realization that he was teaching  _ the Emperor of the Universe _ how to kiss like a Human certainly wasn’t lost on him, and Shiro wanted to laugh if he didn’t have Zarkon rumbling impatiently on top of him.

 

He coaxed Zarkon’s tongue, twining his own with Zarkon’s larger one. Zarkon’s tongue had rough texture on it and he still tasted like ozone, and —  _ oh, okay _ , his tongue was  _ long _ . When it slipped into Shiro’s mouth, it felt like it would go on forever until it hit the back of Shiro’s throat. Shiro let out a choked moan — it felt weird,  _ alien _ , but it wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

 

The kiss somewhat turned into Zarkon tongue-fucking him and Shiro felt like he was going to melt into the bed. The taste of ozone grew even stronger, pressing down into his senses and choking him, and something sweet and slick slipped into his mouth like honey. He briefly wondered what it was, but the thought didn’t last long.

 

He wanted Zarkon to never stop touching him. It had been a long time since he had any physical contact, and now Zarkon was giving it to him like some kind of benevolent god casting rain to a dehydrated man on the desert. One of his large hands began to trail down Shiro’s chest, wandering, exploring. It tugged at something, and slowly, tantalizingly, the zipper of his undersuit opened, exposing him to Zarkon.

 

When Zarkon broke the kiss, Shiro was completely breathless. He could see his own bare chest rising and falling, even as his attention was focused on Zarkon on top of him. When Zarkon pressed his clawed thumb at Shiro’s bottom lip, the sharp claw resting there as if threatening to cut through the soft skin, Shiro felt a surge of thrill from it.

 

“Do you want me to continue?” Zarkon asked.

 

Words were hard for him right now, so Shiro could only nod, slowly so Zarkon wouldn’t cut his lip.

 

“Say it”, Zarkon demanded, his claw pressed even more, not quite breaking the skin but still felt somewhat painful.

 

“Y-yes”, Shiro answered. Yes,  _ of course _ he wanted Zarkon to keep touching him, keep pushing him to that edge between borderline pain and pleasure. He wanted more — as soon as he got a taste of Zarkon’s touch, he wanted  _ more _ .

 

Using his other hand, Zarkon held Shiro’s wrists above his head, before dipping his head lower. His breath was warm over Shiro’s neck, and Shiro could feel the tip of his nose touching the skin there, inhaling his scent. 

 

It drove Shiro crazy, making him want more. But he was helpless — Zarkon was setting a slow pace, and there was nothing that Shiro could do, being pinned down to the bed. Pleas kept spilling from his lips, but Zarkon was unfaltering with his pace.

 

“My Lord,  _ please _ ”, Shiro begged sweetly, hoping that it would be enough. He could see the briefest hint of surprise in Zarkon’s face, but the Emperor was resolute. Shiro thought he could cry.

 

He was so  _ hard _ . He could feel precum beginning to stain the frontside of his undersuit, wet and sticky, and he was so desperate for Zarkon to touch him there. And yet, Zarkon was still keeping up with his agonizingly slow pace. Shiro didn’t know how Zarkon could keep up with his composure.

 

When the protruding maxilla grazed over his nipple, he let out a loud, surprised moan. It didn’t hurt, but the protrusion felt dangerously similar to teeth, enough to stir dread in his gut. Shiro’s eyes met with Zarkon’s and there was something unreadable flit across the Galra’s face.

 

He supposed he should’ve expected it when Zarkon began to attack his nipples, but Shiro’s mind was  _ this close _ from short-circuiting. His nipples had always been sensitive, something that his past romantic partners always found adorable. Right now, Zarkon was purposely grazing his nipples and playing with them until they were both perky. 

 

Shiro didn’t know how long Zarkon toyed with his nipples. He was already a sobbing, begging mess, and Zarkon wasn’t even touching his dick yet. Through the lustful haze in his mind, Shiro wondered if he could come from the overstimulation. 

 

When Zarkon was finally,  _ finally _ , moving away from them, he slowly slid even lower, the tip of his nose ghosted over each bump of his ribs, past his navel and the dip of his pelvis. There was something bizarre about someone as powerful as Zarkon worshipping his body like this — it made him feel like he  _ really _ belonged only to Zarkon.

 

The zipper went even lower, and Shiro was sobbing when his dripping cock was finally freed from its confine. There was another rustling of clothes and a loud zipping noise, before he felt tight, wet heat wrapping around the tip of his cock.

 

He opened his eyes, not remembering when they had fallen shut, and saw Zarkon slowly pushing Shiro’s cock into his cunt.

 

Shiro didn’t know which was more surprising — the fact that Zarkon had a cunt or that he had a long, tentacle-like cock slipping out of it. He didn’t remember seeing both genitals when he saw Zarkon naked before this. The word ‘everted’ somewhat flitted across his mind, but it was quickly dispelled when Zarkon slid himself lower onto Shiro’s cock and riding him.

 

The heat was  _ incredible _ , and Zarkon’s cunt was surprisingly tight despite their size difference. It clamped down onto his cock like a vise and Shiro felt like his brain was going to melt inside his skull. It didn’t take long for Shiro to come, Zarkon’s cunt squeezing every last drop of his seed. Shiro briefly wondered if he could accidentally knock Zarkon up, before remembering that— yeah,  _ alien _ . 

 

Zarkon huffed when he pulled himself off Shiro’s cock, and Shiro would’ve laughed at the Emperor’s pouty face another time. But then, Zarkon offered the tip of his cock to Shiro’s mouth.

 

As if on a trance, Shiro took it in, sucking at the tip. 

 

Zarkon’s cock was long, barbed, and thick; maybe even thicker than Shiro’s wrist. The slit leaked profusely with slick sweetness that spilled easily down his throat, warming him up inside and out. The taste was addicting, and Shiro felt like he could drink from it forever. 

 

Then, Zarkon began to fuck into Shiro’s mouth, setting up a fast pace as he chased after his own pleasure. The tip of his cock hit the back of Shiro’s throat and slid even deeper. Shiro couldn’t  _ breathe _ , and he gripped uselessly at Zarkon’s strong thighs as black spots began to surround his vision.

 

Before he could black out completely, Zarkon came with a roar. The taste of his seed coated Shiro’s throat, and Shiro drank it eagerly as if he was  _ starving _ from it. It felt as if he could stay like this forever, his face buried between Zarkon’s thighs and he lived off purely on Zarkon’s seed. That didn’t sound so bad.

 

Yet eventually, Zarkon began to pull out, and Shiro tried to keep the cock in his mouth. He whined when it slid past his lips with a pop, but Zarkon made comforting shushing noise as he moved to cradle Shiro in his arms.

 

There was something warm tickling at the back of his head, a bright glow that enveloped him with a sense of home and belonging, connecting him to the Galra before him. 

 

Before Shiro could ponder over it further, his eyes slipped shut from exhaustion, and he let himself drown.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of [VLD Tropes Fest](http://vldtropesfest.tumblr.com) | Comments and Kudos are appreciated | Anonymous creators will be revealed after the masterlist is posted!


End file.
